As she’d expected, the beach was gray, dull, and empty, the failing daylight the color of slate. Rain slashed down like millions of tiny silvery fish, then burst into gray stars on the rocks. For an instant Luce had the strange idea that the endless rain might somehow erase her from the world, as if she were no more substantial than one of those hurtling drops. She tried to stifle her disappointment. Wouldn’t it be unfair to expect Dorian to come out in this weather? But on the other hand, she’d come out, and it wasn’t like Dorian was the one who had to worry about getting snapped in half by an orca either. Her tail swung out of the water in a sullen flip, sending up a high cascade of water. She turned to leave.

“Luce!” Hard steps came rattling down the beach. “Hey, wait! Oh, I almost didn’t see you.” He had a new jacket, Luce saw, a navy blue one this time, and he was holding a flag-sized slab of tattered tarp up over his head. His eyes were wide and darkly golden, and for the first time Luce saw something hesitant in his expression, as if it had only occurred to him now that she might be some kind of mirage. He glanced at the bikini and smiled strangely. “‘Sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown . . .’” Luce didn’t know what to say to that. She was somehow too sad to respond, but he didn’t seem to notice. “So. How’s the being mythological going?”

It was uncomfortable to hear him sound so clownish, so awkward. He seemed to be trying to hide a spasm of embarrassment, and Luce noticed, he didn’t splash out to hug her the way he had the day before.

“I don’t feel any more mythological than ever,” Luce snapped. It came out more sharply than she’d intended; for some reason she was annoyed with him, even as he stood bedraggled and gawky under his dripping tarp. The slope of the beach was steep, and since Luce was sprawled stomach-down against the shore his face seemed much too far above hers. “Just grossed out by all this stupid rain.” Why was that what she said when there were so many more important things she wanted to tell him?

“Water bothers you?”

“Rain is fresh water. It’s different.” Suddenly she had an idea. “Dorian? Can you swipe that rowboat again?”

“Want to take another crack at me?” Dorian was almost sneering, and Luce stared at him, too hurt to react at all. He saw the shocked look on her face, and for a moment they just gazed at each other, his ochre eyes wary and hard.